A Black Moon on a White Night
by Khai-kun
Summary: To her at least, the world was beginning to look like more than just blotches of black and white.


**Disclaimer:** As per usual, I do not own Nurarihyon no Mago or any of its characters, and I make no profit whatsoever in the writing of this story. This particular tale, though, is mine. Enjoy!

...

**A Black Moon on a White Night**

The rice paper laid before her on the tatami, illuminated by candlelight. Its surface was pure, unmarred by a single blemish and untainted by the world around it. The girl took a moment to grasp the blank page, savoring the ivory-like texture between her fingertips. This action was done more out of habit than actual pleasure, but it still gave her a sense of tranquility. With each caress, she evoked memories of nights gone by, of endless sessions spent with both brush and ink, crafting worlds all her own. For her, this paper was an escape from the current upheaval that now defined her life, a place where her thoughts were free to flow, unencumbered by the teachings and philosophies of her family. As she relinquished her hold on the page, her mind began to wander, searching for a muse on this most serene summer night.

Minutes passed as the girl sat and contemplated the subject for her newest composition. Her eyes probed the study, looking for anything that she could use as a building block. Unfortunately, her inner artist had decided to take the night off. No matter what she looked at, it did nothing to stoke the fires of her creativity. It was to be expected, though. Over the past few months, she had used nearly every item in the room as inspiration for one piece or another. From the arrangement of azaleas on the desk to the jade tiger on the bookshelf, it was all just rehashed subject material, and the girl wanted something new.

_Just give me something, anything!_ She prayed to the ceiling with outstretched arms, but even that was not enough to inspire her. With a heavy sigh, the girl fell back onto the tatami. _It's just one of those nights, I guess._

The girl crossed her arms over her eyes in defeat. She hated not having a subject to paint. Not painting forced her to think, and thinking forced her to address certain issues that she would rather forget altogether.

Before her thoughts could stray into the undesirable, the girl gave herself a quick pinch on the arm. _Ouch!_ The pain may have been only momentary, but it was enough to interrupt her current musings. She did not fancy another sleepless night thinking about . . . _him._

_I need some air. _After giving her head a quick shake, the girl got to her feet and made her way towards the shoji on the eastern wall. A walk in the garden seemed like a perfect chance to clear her head.

...

It was not often that the girl saw the garden in such a mesmerizing state. She was not even sure if what she was witnessing was real. It seemed like something from a long and lucid dream, a place where the tangible met the imaginary. Every place where the moonlight touched seemed to be taken from the page of a fairy tale. An ethereal mist had settled on the stone pathways, suspending the rocks on a bed of fluffy clouds, and the magic did not stop there.

The various shrubs and flowers had also undergone a transformation. Thanks to the light of the moon, each piece of flora had adopted a different shade of blue. The girl was not even sure if she could put a name to the various tones that spread out before her. It was a painter's paradise - well, as long as that painter did not mind a palette composed entirely of the colors of the sea.

What struck her the most, though, was the ancient sakura tree that towered in the center of the garden. With its massive trunk and thick branches, this tree stood like a vanguard to the outside world, and its flowers only added to the grandeur. Even in the summer, the buds bloomed brilliantly. The delicate tinges of white and pink only served to magnify the moonlight. It was as if a purple flame had settled itself on the branches, burning eternally, yet never destroying them. There was only one word the girl could utter, and even _it_ could not give the scene poetic justice.

"Beautiful."

"It sure is."

The girl froze on the spot. This was not happening to her. No, it had to be a mistake. This was all a dream, or maybe it was just some big cosmic joke that her ancestors had tried to pull on her. She was hearing things, she had to be. After she had tried for so long to avoid _him,_ there was no way that he would be right behind her - hell, she had even asked the Fukuju branch to strengthen the spiritual barrier around the main house. But she knew it was him. There was no way she would ever mistake that deep voice or the sarcastic tone that came with it.

_No choice then._ The girl let her shoulders go slack for a second and gently closed her eyes. Then, with a quick snap of her wrists, she released the ofuda that were hidden in her kimono sleeve. As she dug her right foot into the ground, she pivoted her body, and launched herself at the unwelcome apparition.

Although surprise was on the girl's side, her opponent was no slouch. As soon as she turned around, the cloaked figure had reduced his center of gravity and solidified his stance. She only had one chance, so she had to make it count. With her left hand, she tossed her ofuda at her adversary's right leg. Just as expected, he spun to his left to avoid the effects of the talisman. That momentary shift offered the opening that the girl was looking for.

_Gotcha!_ She closed the gap on the person before her and forced the remaining ofuda at his face. _This should keep you out for a while._

It was over, or at least it should have been. Instead of slapping the piece of paper on her foe's face, she passed through his figure like a ghastly specter. It was a strange feeling, like trying to catch smoke between her fingertips. She quickly spun around and dropped to one knee, holding the ofuda in front of her like a shield.

Was she imagining things? No, he was still there, and at the same time, he was not. That wispy body was nothing more than a mirage. The real one was still out there. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking for any trace of movement, but he had hidden himself well. The stillness of the night reasserted itself, and the girl was beginning to realize just how quiet it really was. Amidst the rustling of the plants, all she could perceive was the steadily increasing beat of her heart.

Seconds ticked by as the girl remained rooted to the ground, waiting for him to make the next move. Beads of sweat had begun to pool at the nape of her neck; whether they were the result of the June heat or simple nervousness was still up for debate, but it annoyed her all the same. Using her free hand, the girl reached back to wipe off the moisture, and it was then that she felt the grip of two strong hands on her wrists. The girl winced from the pain, squeezing her eyes shut in the process, and when she reopened them, a familiar visage was now staring her in the face.

"Hey now," the taller figure admonished, "that could've been dangerous. There's no need for talismans. Isn't that right, Yura?"

The girl said nothing. Her face only showed defiance as her chestnut eyes bore into the crimson ones before her. It really was him. There was no mistaking the long locks of ebony and ivory that framed his handsome features, and his scent was just as she remembered it. The fragrance reminded her of a cool summer night, just after rainfall; the smell of grass mingled with those of dewdrops and the sweetness of sake. It was a smell that she had found comfort in, but she would never admit it to the person before her, especially with the cocky smirk that now decorated his face. Any other girl would have swooned at the sight, but it only served to irritate her further. Though he looked like a man and smelled like a man, the figure before her could never really be called "human."

"Yura," the figure spoke, trying to gain her attention, "are you listening to me?"

The girl maintained her silence, offering a more intense glare.

"Okay," he said in exasperation, "I'm going to let you go, all right? Please don't do anything stupid. I just want to talk."

Yura raised her eyebrow at the word "stupid," but otherwise said nothing. She merely gave a curt nod. The figure regarded the girl for a few seconds before he finally released his hold on her and backed away. It was with some trepidation that Yura returned the ofuda to the sleeves of her kimono, but she decided to let him have his say. After all, she attacked him first.

The girl got to her feet and firmly crossed her arms in front of her chest; she was certainly not going to be the one to start the conversation. Despite his insistence, however, the long-haired figure was in no rush to begin talking. He simply stared out into the garden with a wistful look in his eyes, oblivious to the girl who was now tapping her foot in annoyance.

_Come on already._ Yura was about ready to kick him in the shin. _The sooner we talk, the sooner you can leave._

The person before her took one more look at the sky before he resettled his gaze on Yura. His blank face betrayed nothing, but it did give the girl some pause. It was a mask that she had seen only once before, a facade that showed neither joy nor sadness. To her, it was a mask that said that no matter how long it took, he would wait and give her all the time in the world. Yura averted her eyes to the ground, hoping her bangs would conceal her softened expression.

_What the hell? Don't go showing me that now!_ Yura clutched at her kimono with her right hand, just over the spot where her heart should be. For some reason, her chest felt tighter than usual, almost as if a rope was choking the life out of her. Was it guilt that she was feeling, or was it something more? Either way, she would not give up ground to this person. She hazarded a small glance and was surprised to find the mask replaced with that stupid smirk from earlier. It was like his previous expression never existed. Instead, he took that smug smile, turned away, and ventured deeper into the garden. It took almost a minute for the girl to regain her senses.

_Who does he think he is?_ Yura's eyes twitched as she observed the pompous figure saunter through the foliage, cutting a line through the blue mist. _The arrogant jerk, I thought he wanted to talk!_

Without wasting a breath, the girl tailed after her quarry. Now she knew what this was. He always did this, baiting her with that smirk of his and getting her to initiate the conversation. Yura absolutely despised him for it, and still, the ruse worked every single time. _Damn it._

Even though his pace was slow, Yura maintained a certain distance between them. She trudged in silence through the mist, keeping her eyes glued to the person in front of her. As much as the girl tried to deny it, she also had a desire to talk, but there was no way her pride would ever admit it to his face. After all, she had been avoiding him for so long. Her fingers grasped the very edges of her sleeves to the point of almost ripping. It gave her some comfort in what she was about to do.

"Rikuo," the girl stated, "wait."

At the sound of her command, the figure in question immediately stopped. He glanced over his shoulder before turning to face her fully. His smirk was still there, just not as pronounced as before.

"Rikuo," the figure said softly, glancing up at the night sky, "how long did it take . . . for you to finally call me by my first name?"

"What?" the girl asked, taken aback by the strange question. "Why are you asking me this now?"

Rikuo did not bother answering with words. Instead, his eyes wandered, examining the area with a thoughtful glance before returning to the girl in front of him. It took a moment for Yura to register the visual cues, but she soon understood what he meant.

Yura closed her eyes briefly and took a small breath before taking in the scenery around them. The two were standing on opposite ends of a small red footbridge that extended over a koi pond. It was a place she knew all too well, and it stirred something inside that she had long since forgotten. Yura's legs trembled slightly as she walked to the edge of the bridge, taking a seat on the low wall that separated her from the water below. Tentatively, she peered over the side, into the clear surface that was unveiled by the moonlight.

The pond was calm, and in that thin veneer of water, Yura could almost see images of moments gone by. She could remember the sting of the rain on that cold summer night and her wish for it to just wash her away; she could hear her own voice screaming to the sky and cursing the world for what it had done; and she could feel the strength of the arms around her, their warmth just enough to save her from herself.

Yura let out a heavy sigh. "You just had to bring me here . . . didn't you?"

"No," Rikuo said, "but I wanted to."

Yura turned around to address the young man who now stood only inches away. His smirk was gone, replaced once again by his emotionless mask. She searched his eyes, looking for any crack in the mask, but it proved futile.

"Rikuo," she began, "why exactly are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "I was worried. The last time we talked was during New Years. I thought something might've happened. It felt like Hagoromo Gitsune all over again."

"That was five years ago," she explained. "I'm not some weak little girl, Rikuo. I don't need you to come and save me every time I need help."

"Then why have you been avoiding me for the past few months?" he asked, the anger apparent in his voice. "As soon as I had the chance, I took the next train heading for Kyoto!"

"What do you want from me, Rikuo?" Yura was tired, and her defeated tone only served to emphasize that fact.

"I just want to understand," he said softly. He dropped to his knees and placed his hands on the bridge to either side of the girl, effectively cutting off her escape route.

The two fell into an uneasy silence, unsure of how to continue. It was strange. For the past few months, she had been so adamant in trying to avoid him, to sever any and all connections with this young man, and yet here they were, back where it all started. She should have known that it would not last forever. It was so much easier to ignore his calls and letters when he was living hundreds of miles away. Now that he was here, she could no longer run.

Yura took one more look into his eyes. His gaze remained transfixed on her, unwavering in the moonlight. She nearly lost herself in those crimson orbs.

It was a gaze that said, _"No matter what, I will get my answer at any cost."_

It was a gaze that screamed, _"I not only want to understand, I will understand, because I know you better than anyone else in this world."_

Yura quickly turned to hide her reddening cheeks. She hated her body sometimes, and this was certainly one of those times. Her face felt like it was on fire, and she was pretty sure that she resembled a tomato at the moment. Her heart was pounding like a drum reaching its zenith, and she had no way of slowing down the tempo. She was a mess, an absolutely gigantic mess of female hormones that refused to fix itself all because of the young man who was but a breath away.

_Damn it! Out of all the people in the world, why did it have to be you?_ If there was one indelible truth that this girl had come to realize, it came in the form of a tall, long-haired, crimson-eyed yokai. One word would not be enough to sum up her feelings for this young man. After all, how could she explain the feeling of having him close to her and thinking all is right with the world? How could she describe the sensation of his touch, a touch that while both soft and tender, was enough to melt her very soul? How could she express her desire to have him and only him until the end of time?

Yura was not stupid. She had discerned what her feelings were long ago, and it was because of that knowledge that she did what she felt was necessary._ After all, we live in completely different worlds._ Steeling her resolve, Yura turned back to Rikuo with determined eyes.

"Rikuo," the girl said in a steady voice, "if you really want to understand, then it would be better if we went inside."

"Why's that?" he asked.

Yura gave him the faintest of smiles. "Because I have a painting I want to start."

...

The study was just as Yura had left it earlier that night. Her painting supplies laid sprawled out on the tatami while a circle of candles decorated the workspace in a soft orange glow. The scene brought her a little comfort. If she thought hard enough, she could imagine that this night was just like any other and ignore the long-haired figure who had perched himself on top of the desk.

"Are all of these yours?" asked Rikuo, pointing to the stack of papers by his side.

"Yeah, they are," answered Yura as she gathered her materials and set them on the low table in the center of the room.

"Sumi-e painting, huh," he said as he fingered through the pages quickly. "I never knew you were into this sort of thing. They're nice."

"Thank you," Yura said softly. Though the compliment was simple, it was sincere, and it brought a rosy blush to her cheeks. "I just got into it a few months ago, but I'm really enjoying it. I guess writing all those ofuda was good practice."

"No doubt," Rikuo acknowledged. He had stopped on one particular piece and was observing it rather thoroughly. "This one's really amazing."

Her curiosity piqued, the girl stood up and joined the young man at the desk. Upon seeing the chosen painting, Yura could not help but give a soft smile. The image on the page was nothing more than a solitary flower, but to her, it may have been her most favorite painting of all.

"That was an iris I saw by the river," she mentioned fondly. "It was budding just as I walked by."

"Really now," he mused. "'A flower in bloom,' huh? A fitting piece for a Keikain."

Yura raised an eyebrow. "You _do_ realize that the first two kanji in my family name mean 'flower' and 'open.' 'A flower in bloom' is such a loose translation."

"Ah, but doesn't it sound more poetic?"

The girl simply rolled her eyes and went back to the table, beckoning the young man with a wave of her hand. She brought him here for a reason, and she was determined to see it through.

As she settled into her workspace, Yura could feel all the tension from earlier that night leave her body. This was what she needed. This felt right. Not even the crimson-eyed figure leaning against the table frame could break her concentration.

_Time to start._ Yura first took a piece of inkstick into her hand and massaged it between her fingertips. This particular piece was shaped like lotus leaves. It was smooth to the touch, from the curves that formed its elegant shape to the cavities that gave it depth. It was almost a shame to ruin it; nonetheless, the girl proceeded to grind the stick on an inkstone, letting a fine black powder settle into its well. Satisfied with the amount, Yura added a little water and addressed the person watching her.

"Rikuo," she said, "do you remember what the philosophy of the Keikain . . . of my family is?"

"Philosophy?" he asked slowly. "How can I forget? Your brother is _kind_ enough to remind me about it every time I see him."

The young man paused for a moment as the girl beside him mixed the contents of the inkstone with her brush. The powder and water coalesced into one, forming a miniature sea of obsidian. The color was haunting. It was a shade of the purest black, rivaling even Hagoromo Gitsune herself.

"Rikuo?" The girl stopped mixing to look at the figure next to her.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I spaced out for a second."

The girl resumed her mixing and took a deep breath. "If this world was monotone, divided into black and white-"

"Yokai would be absolute 'black,'" interrupted Rikuo.

"And onmyouji would be absolute 'white,'" finished Yura as she laid her hand on a piece of rice paper.

"That's such an archaic way of thinking," spat Rikuo, "especially after everything our families have been through together."

"You think I don't know that?" the girl retorted. "My family will always hate yokai. Nothing you do can change that. To them, yokai are nothing but monsters, an unnecessary evil in this world. And we onmyouji are the destroyers of that evil. It's just the way things are."

"That doesn't mean that I have to enjoy it!"

The pair fell silent. A heavy stillness filled the air as the two adolescents refused to look each other in the face. Yura gripped her brush tightly, almost willing it to break. She hated this. It was already bad enough that Rikuo was sitting just inches away. Any more of this tension was bound to drive her insane.

"Hey, Yura," began Rikuo, breaking the silence.

"W-what is it?" asked the girl.

"Do you think I'm a monster?"

The girl blinked a few times. "Say that again."

"Do you think I'm a monster?" RIkuo repeated.

Yura turned to look at the young man. His face remained calm, but his eyes told a different story. Those crimson orbs pierced her like a dagger. They were begging her, almost pleading, and she was more than willing to acquiesce in their request.

"No," she answered softly, "how could I ever see you as a monster?"

The young man gave a sigh. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I just thought that . . . well . . . forget it."

The girl could not help but give a small smile. Was he really that dense? If anything, she thought of him in the complete opposite manner. Then again, it was difficult to argue her actions these past few months, especially this night in particular. _Guess I have to give him a few more hints._

Yura focused on her painting again. After picturing her subject, she took her brush and immersed it in the shallow well. She mixed the ink for a few seconds, and when she was satisfied, the girl let her brush hover just centimeters above the page.

"Rikuo," she said slowly, "do you know why we Keikain based our teachings on the concept of 'black' and 'white?'"

"No," the young man responded. "Why did you?"

Yura took her brush and formed the outline of a circle. "My ancestors wanted to embody the Chinese philosophy of yin and yang. In other words, death and life . . . good and evil . . . dark and light . . . black and white. They believed that yokai were causing an imbalance in the world, and onmyouji were meant to fix that balance."

"It seems like your ancestors took liberties in their interpretation," said Rikuo. "You can't be one or the other. With yin and yang, _everything_ must be in balance. Therefore, every being must have aspects of both yin and yang, be they human or yokai."

"I know that now, Rikuo," she stated. "Unfortunately, most of my family is blind to it. It's a philosophy that has been ingrained in all of us since birth."

The girl continued to shade in parts of the circle, giving the illusion of shadow. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she pointed her brush right between the young man's eyes.

"Thankfully," she said with a smile, "I had someone to teach me otherwise."

Rikuo returned the smile with his patented smirk. "What can I say? Guess I just have a knack for teaching."

"Jerk."

Yura reached for the inkstone once more but was stopped by the hand that now gripped her own. She took a look at his face and was amazed at how quickly he could switch from that smirk to his emotionless mask. _How many times has he done that tonight?_

"Yura," he spoke, "I appreciate the history lesson, but you still haven't answered my question from before. Why have you been avoiding me for the past few months?"

The girl turned away and hid her face behind her bangs. Did he think that it was really that simple for her? She was never good at expressing herself with words. She was not like Kana who shyly expressed her love on more than one occasion. She was not like Torii and Maki who were not afraid to speak their minds about anything and everything. And she was certainly not like Tsurara who openly voiced her admiration for her master. That was just not her.

Yura tried to pull her hand back, but Rikuo only tightened his grip. She winced as his nails began to dig into her skin.

"Rikuo, that hurts."

The young man relaxed his hold slightly, but otherwise kept a firm grasp on the girl. "Yura, please tell me."

Yura bit her lip as she tried to will her hand free, but to no avail. She was very near her breaking point. All she wanted to do was fade away. Anything was better than facing him right now. But she was trapped, like a bird in a cage, and her only hope for salvation was telling him what he wanted to hear.

"Yura . . ."

"Rikuo," she finally said, "did you know? As much as I enjoy sumi-e, I hate it as well?"

"Damn it, Yura!" he practically screamed. "Stop avoiding the question!"

The girl ignored him and continued. "I hate it because it reminds me of what I'm struggling with right now."

"What are you-"

"I hate it because it reminds me of that stupid philosophy," she continued, her voice rising. "I always thought that painting was my escape, but I've just been lying to myself. 'Black' and 'white' . . . 'black' and 'white' . . . 'black' and 'white.' It always comes back to that."

"Hey, slow down-"

"In sumi-e," the girl spoke, "you're limited to only two colors: the black of the ink and the white of the page. In order to create, you have to balance the two. But where one exists, the other cannot."

The girl was nearly in hysterics. The more she talked, the more her emotions began to surge right out. It was as if a dam had broken within her, and she had no way of stopping the raging torrent. Even Rikuo had long since given up his grip on her.

"Either you fill it with black or you leave it as white."

Yura dropped her brush and gripped the sides of her kimono, shaking violently.

"It's impossible for the two to coexist," she cried. "It's impossible for them to be together!"

Yura squeezed her eyes shut as the tears began to flow. She was no longer talking about painting, and the girl was quite aware of it. All of her insecurities from the past few months were being brought to the surface, and in front of the person she least wanted to tell. But Yura did not care anymore. It needed to be said. _She_ needed it to be said.

"It's impossible," she said weakly, "no matter how much I may love you . . ."

No sooner had she said those words that a warmth enveloped the girl greater than anything she had ever experienced before. It was both familiar and foreign. The arms were a little longer and the muscles a little more defined, but they were still reminiscent of the ones on that rainy summer night.

"I'm sorry," Rikuo whispered as he clutched onto her tiny form, "I'm sorry. I understand."

Yura did not say another word. She did not even try to push him away. After her lengthy diatribe, the girl was just too emotionally drained to do anything else. All she could do was cuddle closer to the body around her, as if trying to hide from all the pain in the world. In the comfort of his arms, Yura was free to be vulnerable, because she knew that despite all odds, he would weather any danger just to preserve her smile. Right now, this was her sanctuary, her protection, her safe haven from the storm.

_Why is it that I just fall apart when I'm around you?_ As she rested on the young man's chest, Yura could not help but think of how stubborn she had been. _I thought that if I stayed away, my feelings would change. I thought that if I pushed you away, you would forget about me. Despite all that, you keep pulling me back in. Rikuo . . ._

The two stayed in their embrace for what seemed like eternity. They said nothing, nor did they _need_ to say anything. Being together was enough. But as the lights from the candles began to dim, they were reminded that this moment could not last forever.

"Yura," the young man spoke softy, "I have to go."

"I know," she responded meekly.

"Will you be all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good," he said, "because we're still not done here."

Wrinkling her brow, the girl lifted her face to look at Rikuo's. Even with the muted glow of the candles, she could make out the smirk that she knew all too well.

"Wha-"

The young man silenced her lips with a finger. "Shhh. Don't talk. I understand what you've been going through, but have you ever once thought to ask me what _I_ wanted?"

Yura's breath hitched as Rikuo removed his finger and used his hand to caress her cheek. His touch was like electricity, stimulating everything from the tips of her toes to the strands of hair on her head. She could not move even a single muscle. She could only watch as his head inched ever closer. With their lips but a touch away, he said the words that she never expected to hear.

"I love you, Yura."

With that, Rikuo gently captured her lips.

The girl's first kiss was not exactly what she thought it would be. After all the stories her friends had told her, she expected something hot, something loud, something exciting enough to fuel the hunger within her. Instead, Yura felt the soft, tentative lips of a boy who was also experiencing this for the first time. He started off slow, exploring her lips with his own as if trying to remember their every curve and contour. She could feel him tremble as he cupped her other cheek, almost like he was afraid that she would disappear at any moment. The kiss was nervous and awkward and filled with a longing for something more, but she would not have it any other way.

When they separated, the two adolescents sported matching blushes and immediately turned away. Yura put her hand to her lips, almost in disbelief. _Wow._ His taste still lingered. It was one of rice and umeboshi and even the sweetness of sake. It was different and unique and all entirely Rikuo.

"Hey, Yura," the young man spoke, snapping the girl out of her spell, "I meant what I said."

The girl turned to address him once more. "Rikuo, I-"

"Wait," he interrupted. "Just listen to me. I could care less about what your family thinks of me. I could care less about their damn teachings. There's only one person I care about right now, and she's sitting right in front of me.

I don't want you to worry anymore about 'black' and 'white.' You want to know why? It's because of your paintings. From what I saw of your work, you really _can_ mix the two and create something wonderful. Maybe you never noticed or maybe you just chose to ignore it, but what really made your art wonderful were the shades of 'gray' in between. 'Gray' gave your pieces form and meaning, so why not just apply that here? Let me be that 'gray' in you life."

The girl was smiling in spite of herself. "You can be really corny sometimes, you know that? But you really do know how to cheer me up."

"That's because I know you . . . better than anyone in the world," he answered. "And if the Keikain still don't approve, then just become the head of the family and change that damn philosophy!"

Yura let out a jovial laugh, one she had not released in ages. Perhaps it could work. Why could it not work? With Rikuo by her side, anything seemed possible. He was her love. He was her muse. He was her everything.

As the young man got up to leave, he stole one last kiss from the surprised girl. It was brief and a little more forceful than the first, but it was still just as sweet.

"I love you," he whispered, and with that, he vanished into the night.

...

**Author's Notes:** Hey all! Long time no see. College does that to you. Sometimes I wish all I had to do was eat, sleep, and write fanfiction. Oh well, that's life. Anyway, this idea popped up during one of my painting classes and refused to go away until I wrote it. I'm still working on _Discoveries_, but I just keep getting distracted with other story ideas. I have a few more oneshots waiting in the wings. Don't worry, it will get done.

Comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism are appreciated. After all, that's the only way I can get better.

Catch ya later!

**Vocab:**

ofuda - a talisman issued by a Shinto shrine

sake - a rice-based alcoholic beverage of Japanese origin

sumi-e - ink and wash painting

inkstick - a type of solid ink used in calligraphy and brush painting

inkstone - a stone mortar for the grinding and containment of ink

umeboshi - pickled ume fruits common in Japan


End file.
